Thin Ice
by Cheyenne32
Summary: Her eyes slit, seemingly staring into the depths of his soul, but he is unflinching. All he wants to do is stop; to heed the 'thin ice' sign that but he doesn't. And the ice breaks.


**Disclaimer: **Don't own _Castle_...

**Summary: **Her eyes slit, seemingly staring into the depths of his soul, but he is unflinching. All he wants to do is stop; to heed the 'thin ice' sign that but he doesn't. And the ice breaks.

**Important: **This is set sometime after _To Love and Die in L.A. _How could Castle let Beckett talk like she wasn't important?

* * *

><p><strong>Thin Ice: <strong>

"Damn it!" The scream leaves his mouth before he could stop it, and the vase on the table beside her sofa is now on the rug in the middle of her floor, breaking immediately into a million places. He tries to ignore how she flinches at his angry words and actions. And he tries to ignore how her back straightens at this, as if he's just another challenge, another suspect in her interrogation room that she had under her control. Because he is not under her control. Or doesn't want to be any longer. The water from the vase is seeping into her carpet now, staining it, but neither one of them move to pick it up, even him with guilt consuming him over his actions.

And suddenly, he reaches a point where he no longer cares. "Stop it." His voice is low, but with heavy angry beneath it. He practically growls it at her, but she has no outward reaction. They stare at each other, willing the other to break before they could, but they both hold strong. Her eyes are just as angry as he imagines his are, which only provokes him more. How dare she be angry at him? His throat tightens to where it's almost closed as adrenaline runs through his veins. His body is practically shaking with anger, but he does not notice. "Stop acting as if no one cares about you!" He screams at her. "Stop acting as if you could die and no one would care." His low voice is long gone, and he does not care if any of her neighbors here.

Her eyes slit, seemingly staring into the depths of his soul, but he is unflinching. All he wants to do is stop; to heed the 'thin ice' sign that but he doesn't. He can't. He needs to stop before he tells her his most dark secrets. He needs to, but he doesn't. He was already too far in to return now. There was no stopping his words from leaving his lips. They were going to be spoken, and he would just have to deal with the consequences of them. "People care!" he moves closer to her. "People worry, Kate." His words leave a bad taste in her mouth, one she is unlikely to forget. Neither notice how she is slowly backing up towards her living room wall. Her back hits the wall, stopping her backward movement instantly, but he continues to grow closer.

"People love you."

She knows. She sees in his eyes, along with the burning fury. She lets out a breath that she hadn't known she was holding as he continues to move closer to her. And he doesn't stop until their bodies are inches apart and his lips centimeters from her own. He places his hands on the wall beside her head, holding her in place. There is nowhere for her to escape, he realizes quickly. And for once, he is the one who is in control. And he damn well enjoys it.

"Stop it."

He repeats again before claiming her mouth with his own.

And the ice breaks.

It does more than break. It shatters, ruptures, collapses.

But he doesn't mind. He kisses her, hard, passionately. He kisses her like he had wanted to do since he had first met her. But unlike in his fantasies, in his dreams, he is the one who is in control. But she is just as willing. Her hands wrap up his neck and into his hair pulling his body closer to hers. His tongue thrusts into her mouth, and she doesn't even let out one whimper of protest, instead moaning at the new taste, the new feeling. She tastes of chocolate, of coffee, of the salty tears that she had cried throughout the seventy-four hour period. She tastes like nothing he would have ever dreamed up even with his vivid imagination because she tastes better. He had once considered that to be impossible. But he no longer believes in the impossible.

His lips leave hers, and she whimpers in protest. He wonders, briefly, what she thinks of the hardness that is pressing into her stomach, but his mind is in other places when he kisses the sun-kissed skin of her neck. It's soft beneath his lips, and he pauses briefly, wondering if he should tarnish it with his mark. But the thought soon leaves his head as he bites gently into the sensitive point where her neck meets her shoulder. He wants everyone to see it.

He wants them to know that she is his and not anyone else's.

He wants her boyfriend to know that he'll never have her like he would.

With the thought of Josh in his mind, he pulls back. He never thought he would regret kissing her, but he did. He was. He was taking advantage of her when she was at her weakest point, and he should be ashamed. And he was. He swallows heavily, trying to rid his mouth of the taste of her. She breathes his name quietly, as if asking why he had stopped. Guilt consumes him as the adrenaline fades, and with it, the heat of the moment. He is now well aware of his loudly beating heart and of her own. He breathes, feeling himself deflate.

The guilt seems to engulf him more as he thinks of the fact that he would've taken her against this wall if things weren't what they were. And almost, he would've taken her even if they were. He wondered why his self-control finally decided to step in at that moment, but is nonetheless glad it did. Otherwise, how could he manage to face her? She breathes his name again, the only noise other than her loud breath and the pounding of their hearts. He steps away from her, not trusting himself in the close proximity to her. What if he were to lose control and ravish her again? Although, from the sounds of her moans earlier, he was sure she wouldn't have been unhappy. At least, she wouldn't at that moment.

But like he had thought earlier, she was weak, not a word that would usually describe the beautiful and fierce detective, but at the moment, it fit. She was so sad, and even in her sadness, she was beautiful. He was her friend. Her best friend or at least, he was supposed to be. And it had been him who had begun to take advantage of her in her lowest of points. He was a horrible person, one that could not even be considered, a man, he realized as he unconsciously backed away from her more. A louder, but still husky, "Castle," met his ears and he shuddered. He could not raise his eyes to meet hers. He could not bear to look at his mark on her neck or her swollen and thoroughly kissed lips. He breathes again, mainly to calm himself.

"I'm sorry."

He rushes from her apartment, pass the broken vases, and the pictures that include her, the woman who haunts his dreams. As he's fleeing, he hears her calling after him in a breathless tone that he knew he was the cause of. Her footsteps follow him, but stop after a few steps, she's still weak in her knees. He yearns to turn around, to apologize until everything is fine, to help her, and to clean the mess her made, but he doesn't.

He doesn't even look at her.

* * *

><p>So…? By far, my most steamy written scene yet. Any thoughts, ideas, or corrective criticism?<p> 


End file.
